Page 5

FIVE

The Cinema Men

Friday, 18 January, 11.30pm

One of the Kindling guys messaged me. I’ve looked at his profile again and I’m not sure. I think in my eagerness to find another date, I’d gone for the ‘you never know he might be OK in real life’ candidate. He’s Italian American – will he be a stallion? – and runs a small members’ club/bar. Sundays are film club night when he shows his favourite classics. He’s invited me to go along this week. He said he’s going to keep the film a surprise but told me he identifies with the main character. I’m intrigued.

Saturday, 19 January, 5.30pm

Another cinema date. He’s a writer. Cool. He suggested seeing a special screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey on Tuesday. Excellent choice, and he offered to book. I like a man who can plan. This date is looking promising.

I’m trying to be environmentally conscious and buy fewer clothes, but the heat of my passion for fashion melted my icy resolve today. It’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime. Call me shallow, but I love the ritual of opening the bags, taking everything out, cutting the labels and hanging them in the wardrobe. It gives me a sugar rush, a cocaine high, a dopamine surge. But it doesn’t last long, and the new purchases soon disappear in the wardrobe, hidden by previous binges. Must try harder to resist. Anyway, ended up at H&M Oxford Circus, where everyone was so young. Queuing for the changing room, even the people waiting outside for their kids were a generation after me. Is it time to stop shopping in those places? NO. I’m not ready to order elasticated slacks from the Saga catalogue yet. I think I’ll stick with my goal of growing old disgracefully.

Waiting to pick up Mum and Dad from the train for dinner tonight.

11.30pm

It was lovely to sit round a restaurant table, the three of us chatting, instead of Mum spending all her time cooking in the kitchen and Dad keeping an eye on the telly, although I did spend a significant portion of the evening answering questions about their iPad, which Mum just happened to have in her handbag. Sara always suggests they buy new technology but when it comes to helping, I’m the only one patient enough to answer the same question a hundred times. It’s exhausting but I’m so proud of them for wanting to learn.

I took them to Bang Bang to try Vietnamese food. They loved the veggie pancakes, but at one point, Dad swallowed a whole chilli from his curry – his face turned a deep red and tears squirted out of his eyes. Of course, he pretended he had something in his eye, which made me tear up with love.

Watching them together, still in love after all these years, a swell of sadness and regret washed over me about my own failed relationships. Much as I delight in their happiness, I couldn’t help but feel a whisper of envy in seeing the connection they share, that warm, fuzzy feeling that I wish I could experience. A twinge of remorse clutched my gut as I imagined the what-ifs and the paths I could have taken but chose to avoid, and I couldn’t help but question my own life choices. I know that after James, I always held back a small piece, too afraid of giving all of me. If I’d let myself be more vulnerable when I was younger, instead of shutting off at the first sign of intimacy, would I be happily married now too? What if I’d kept my heart open to the unpredictable twists and turns of love, embraced vulnerability and dismissed the fear that’s held me back for far too long? Who knows where I’d be in that parallel universe? Did I burn all my bridges to lasting relationships when, fuming with rage, I made a funeral pyre of my wedding photos? I love sex and, for now, I want it to be enough, but if I find the right man, will I want to let him in?

‘They have a sister restaurant in Mayfair. We could go there too if you liked the food,’ I said.

‘OK, love. Now?’ Dad said, reaching for his coat. He is the Undisputed Champion of Misunderstandings. I teared up with love. Again.

Sunday, 20 January, 5.00pm

Cinema Man One texted me the club address and it’s in a dodgy part of Hackney. Gulp.

9.15pm

On arrival, I was tempted to get straight back into my taxi but forced myself to stay. Why did I do that? It was a dark and quiet dead-end road with graffitied shuttered commercial buildings, and I was a bit scared. Would I ever get to write another diary entry? And if not, would Elton John agree to sing ‘Candle in the Wind’ at my funeral, as requested in my will?

I found the purple door with a small neon sign that said Italianoso with a couple of bouncer types smoking outside. Why didn’t I run at that point? To be polite, as usual.

I pressed the buzzer and waited while the heavies stared at me unapologetically, then Cinema Man One opened the door. His dark grey hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a black shirt open low at the neck, a pair of burgundy shot silk slim trousers and a leather jacket in a matching colour. Cheesy.

‘Hello little lady. Welcome to my humble club,’ he greeted me with a classic New York accent. I changed my mind. He wasn’t just cheesy but also sleazy, and who the hell was he calling ‘little lady’? I was being patronised by a gangster cliché.

The ‘club’ was one small room and a tiny bar in the corner, a bit like those mid-century Formica cocktail bars people had in their homes in the 50s. The whole place was dark red and dimly lit. It was like being inside a blood clot. The walls were decorated with black and white photos, which on closer inspection were gangster characters from Mafia films. There was Al Pacino in The Godfather , Robert De Niro in Once Upon a Time in America and others I didn’t recognise. I watched my date as he hung my coat and joined me at the bar. In his dating profile, he only had one picture, which was a close-up portrait. It was a good likeness, and his face on its own was attractive. It was the rest of him I hadn’t bargained for.

As for the club, there were about a dozen old red velvet cinema chairs that had seen better days facing a mobile screen for the film. A bald man in the front row was fondling a young woman, who was more interested in my arrival than him. A few men stood around drinking spirits, with women in short tight dresses hanging off their arms. It had the feel of what I imagined a gentleman’s strip club would be like – with an added gangster vibe.

‘With a killer figure like yours, I thought you’d be a Sex on the Beach kind of a girl,’ Cinema Man One said, handing me the orange and red drink. It would have been nice to be asked what I wanted, and if that was his idea of flirting, it missed the mark completely. I took a sip. It tasted as sweet as a honeybee’s bottom. Oh yeah, and I’m not a girl. This man turned more into a cliché every time he opened his mouth. How did I not pick that up when we texted?

‘Hey Sophia, do you have any Italian in you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said, knowing what was coming.

‘Do you want some?’ He roared with laughter at his own joke, and so did a couple of guys at the bar who were listening in.

‘Why? Is there pizza?’ I said, deadpan. They stopped laughing.

He then told me how this film was his absolute favourite and that he aspired to be as successful as the main character. I gripped my cocktail and wondered when I could make my exit. Then it was time for the film. I made for the back row so I’d have an escape route. The film started and there was Ray Liotta saying, ‘As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster’. OMG, it was Goodfellas and Cinema Man One’s idol was Henry Hill. My date aspired to be a ruthless gangster.

10.00pm

Cinema Man One insisted on driving me home. He said it wasn’t safe to walk around the area, but I was more scared of him. We were driving through Victoria Park when there was a big thud. We looked at each other, and there it was again: thud, thud. It was coming from the car boot. My heart was racing when he stopped and switched off the engine. The park around us was dark and eerie.

‘I’m going to check the boot,’ he said. I thought about running but didn’t think I’d make it to the main road. I sat gripping my red bag in my lap. He opened the boot and the thudding stopped. A few seconds’ silence then his chilling laugh echoed.

‘Come and see this,’ he shouted from behind the boot door. I got out, still clutching my bag with both hands, and slowly walked down the side of the car and round the back, then turned and looked inside where Joe Pesci was tied up and covered in blood. Cinema Man One gripped my shoulder and put a knife in my hand.

‘Finish him off,’ he said.

Joe Pesci pleaded with me. ‘No, Sophia, no, Sophia, no!’

I woke up on my sofa to find Joy with her hand on my shoulder shouting, ‘Sophia, wake up, Sophia!’

Thank goodness it was just a sofa dream, though I wish I could have normal dreams like being naked in public or flying. When I was in the Himalayas last year, it was so cold, I dreamt all my fingers and toes had dropped off. Anyway, I escaped the screening as soon as the film was finished before Cinema Man One could offer me a lift home. I sent him a ‘Thank you and good luck with finding The One’ text, so I don’t think I’ll be hearing from him again.

P.S. Why is Joy still here at this hour?

Monday, 21 January, 7.30am

I’m wondering whether I got things all out of proportion last night. Cinema Man One and his club members probably liked to dress up and get into the spirit of the film. Or maybe he’s a bit dim and thought he liked the glamour of the Mafia. Sleazy atmosphere aside, it was the thought of being on a date with an aspiring gangster that scared me. If one of my friends was going on a date like that, I’d have told them to run a mile. Yes, I want to be open-minded and adventurous, but I shouldn’t be so reckless, especially not out of politeness. But I hope I don’t look back after date number fifty-two and decide he was the one that got away. Ha ha. No way.

12.30pm

I was trying on the new dresses that arrived today when there was a clinking of keys from the door. WTF? Joy hadn’t finished the cleaning yesterday, but I wasn’t expecting her to come back today. I knew she’d have something to say about my new purchases. There was no time to hide them like I usually do.

‘Sophia bought more clothes?’

‘I’m not keeping all of them. Just trying different things on.’

‘Why you waste your money? And that dress. Too short. Too young for Sophia. Why you don’t dress your age?’

She shook her head and went off to the cleaning cupboard. It’s like having my very own Trinny and Susannah on hand to tell me What Not to Wear in case my mum is too busy to come round and critique my looks: short skirts make me look short, black makes me look bland, and tight clothes make me look fat. These are but a few pieces of wisdom Mum likes to mete out. And God help me if I’m having a bloated tummy day or not wearing makeup.

Now I’ll have to send the dress back or I’ll hear Joy’s voice in my head every time I wear it: ‘Too tight … Too short … Too old, Sophia.’

Tuesday, 22 January, 11.30pm

Cinema Man Two was late for our date, much older and heavier than his picture – #DishonestyAlert – not fanciable, and we had a non-date. He hadn’t booked so he went to get tickets while I bought snacks and drinks. Apparently, the performance was almost sold out and he couldn’t get seats together. I took my ticket and gave him his beer and popcorn as we walked into the dark auditorium. I groped my way to my seat in the front and when my eyes adjusted to the dark, I scanned my row but couldn’t see him, though there were a few empty seats. I sat back, snacks ready to go.

When the film ended, having thoroughly enjoyed my solo date, I stood up to look for him and noticed the cinema was half empty, so I headed for the foyer to find him. Did he deliberately buy separate seats because he didn’t like the look of me any more than I liked him? As I waited for him in vain, my mind taunted me – not beautiful enough, not charming enough, not enough. Being dismissed so callously after just a glance scratched at old wounds, stirring up that pesky gnawing self-doubt that’s always loitering in the background. Even though I knew his rejection said nothing about my worth, I still felt that familiar sting of inadequacy. Would he have stayed if I was younger, thinner, cooler? My inner critic woke up with a start, shredding my confidence. I wanted to sob, ‘Why? Why don’t you want me?’ but I simply walked away, the picture of confidence, while I bled inside. I sent him a text to say I hoped he enjoyed the film, and sorry I missed him at the end. He read it but didn’t reply.

Wednesday, 23 January, 11.30pm

OMG, my clients Brandon and Josh. They’ve always been lovely and so ‘together’ as a couple, but I sensed an atmosphere today as soon as I arrived at their house. I showed them the flamingo wallpaper Josh had asked for at the last meeting when Brandon was away with work. It wouldn’t have been my choice for their scheme, and I guessed Brandon would have a problem with it, but I hadn’t expected the fireworks that followed.

‘There’s no way I’m sleeping in our bedroom with THAT on the wall,’ Brandon said, pointing with an accusatory finger at the pink and orange flamingo wallpaper sample.

‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ Josh said, ‘it’s cute.’

‘You’re a design philistine. I can’t even…’ Brandon said, holding onto his temples.

‘And you’re a design fascist.’ Josh picked up the samples, threw them across the room and stormed out.

I guessed there must have been something else going on between them, and the wallpaper choice lit the fuse. Not an unusual scenario in my world of interior design where you can get up close and personal soon after you’ve met your clients. Brandon helped me clear up the samples.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ he said.

‘No problem. I can’t wait to show you the parakeet bedding I’ve chosen for you,’ I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

He smiled a sad smile. ‘Will you talk to him please, Sophia? You always know the right thing to say. He’ll listen to you, I’m sure.’

I found Josh, tearful, in his study. It transpired that he was upset because Brandon had been away with work a lot lately and Josh resented being left on his own so much. I let him talk it through until he stopped crying.

‘He leaves me on my own to cope with everything, then overrules my choices when he comes back. Why can’t I decide for once?’ Josh said.

‘You can, but marriage is about compromises. I’ll find something you’ll both love if you come back and make up before I leave. But talk to him and tell him how you feel. He’ll understand.’

Josh nodded.

‘Nobody ever lost sleep over bad wallpaper, but plenty of people do from a broken heart. Marriage is rarely perfect, but it’s precious and it needs to be nurtured with care,’ I said.

He nodded again and smiled.

‘Though to be fair, if one of you is an accountant and the other a stylist with a big fashion house, why let the accountant make the design choices?’ I teased.

He laughed out loud, and we went back to the living room, where I watched him embrace Brandon. I was proud of myself for bringing them together but also a little envious of their love.

Thursday, 24 January, 11.30pm

Went for a drink with my new friend Izzy for the first time since she’s come back to London. When I met her and Michael in Peru last year, they’d just got married and were venturing on a year-long honeymoon around the world. I liked them but found it hard to be around their bubble of love and happiness when I was cocooned in a miserable, brittle shell myself. Later, I couldn’t believe it when she texted me from India and told me they’d broken up. Tonight, she opened up about the stress of spending 24/7 together for six months and how they just couldn’t work through their differences.

‘It ended at a train station in Dehli. He wanted to go east to Nepal and I wanted to go south to Kerala. We had a massive row and he walked off and left me on my own. That was the last time I saw him,’ she said. ‘All that anger and heartache because we couldn’t compromise. I was in a daze for weeks afterwards. I was too embarrassed to come back home so I carried on, but it was really tough being alone and heartbroken.’

‘I started my travels already feeling numb so I know exactly how you felt. It’s true about relationships being all about working through your differences. I made a lot of compromises with my ex-boyfriend, but it didn’t stop us falling apart,’ I said.

‘Why did you break up?’

I thought about giving my usual non-committal answer but sometimes it’s easier to be truthful with someone you don’t know very well.

‘I knew something wasn’t quite right. I was never the top of his priorities. His work was more important because he had to impress the boss. His mates absolutely needed him at the pub. And even his ex-wife had to be looked after because she was single and still loved him. There was one time he didn’t turn up to my birthday dinner and instead went to console her because her cat was sick.’

‘Her cat? That’s outrageous,’ she said.

‘Yes, exactly. I had to explain his absence to my friends and endure their pitying looks. There was always a reason why I came second or even last, and I let him convince me that was normal. Now I feel ashamed for putting up with it and not having the confidence to demand to be treated better. I guess I was in deep and didn’t want to change my world.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first to let your heart play tricks with your mind.’

‘Then there was one final betrayal and there was no way I could compromise on that.’

‘What did he do?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t matter now. When he came home from work, he found his empty suitcase and all his stuff in the garden. I wasn’t going to pack for him. I told everyone we didn’t want the same things and that I’d ended the relationship. The truth was, I was devastated and couldn’t work or eat or see my friends. That was why I decided to travel for a few months. Then I could pretend I was fine until I felt better and could come home.’

‘Have you met anyone since then?’ she asked.

‘Nothing serious. I’m done with relationships. What about you?’

‘I went to a singles night and met this guy, Mark, who seemed really nice. We ended up back at my place. I thought he liked me, but he ghosted me afterwards. I didn’t need that,’ she said.

It was good to talk about it even though I didn’t tell her the whole truth. I looked at my travel photos again when I got home. Or should that be my running away photos? In Peru at the beginning, in my picture with Izzy and Michael, I have droopy shoulders and dead eyes, but by the time I reach Australia, I’m posing outside the Sydney Opera House with a rowdy group, arms linked and shouting ‘cheese’ at the camera.

Izzy’s experience proves I’m right to just stick to sex. The Carmen experience is the way to go. I’m closing the door to my heart, triple-locking it and throwing away the key. I know I’ll be happier that way.

Friday, 25 January, 11.30pm

More lovely free stuff for being sixty. A test kit for bowel cancer from the screening service. Nothing like it for making you feel you’re on the downhill journey. You have to smear poo on cards over several days. I’m not looking forward to storing the card in the toiletry cabinet during the proceedings. #ThereMustBeABetterWay

P.S. Doh, Sophia, of course Cinema Man Two bought separate tickets deliberately. Karma for the way I treated The Ice Skater. Why did I feel such a swell of disappointment that I couldn’t rationalise away? I didn’t even like the man and I don’t care if I never see him again, but some fragile well-hidden corner of me craves being chosen. I tell myself I’m happy on my own and I don’t need validation from anyone, but the unanswered text ripped open that old wound. Intellectually, I know I deserve more than crumbs of attention from lacklustre men, but my bruised heart doesn’t understand. Why didn’t he see me, want me, desire me? I know a random man’s disinterest does not – cannot – define my worth, but even so, it takes all my strength not to keep plunging into self-doubt.

P.P.S. Yes, I get the irony and I realise I’m just as guilty for dismissing him after just a glance, but I wouldn’t have pulled the ‘sold out tickets’ trick and would have at least given it a chance.

Saturday, 26 January, 9.30pm

Felt a bit fed up today with the dating challenge and the weird experiences so far. I treated myself to a night at home, binge watching Succession with my faithful friends: black pepper Kettle crisps and salted caramel ice cream with a small singleton sized bottle of prosecco. Heaven. Maybe a holiday in the sun with exotic opportunities could banish my dating blues. Who can I go with though? I need another singleton who can get away easily – I don’t want to go on my own again. It might bring back unwanted memories of this time last year. I wonder if Ace fancies a holiday. He’s having a rough time, and even though he only has himself to blame, I can’t help being concerned. I’m angry with him for cheating but equally I can’t bear being mad at him. A holiday could be what we both need, and he might confide in me while we’re away.

11.30pm

Yay! Ace is up for it. It just so happens he’s not doing any concerts in February. We decided on Cuba as weather will be great this time of the year, and it’ll be salsa heaven. For me anyway. Ace doesn’t have a dancing bone in his body.

Sunday, 27 January, 6.30pm

Just back from the shops. Saw a lovely discounted pink cotton top and couldn’t resist trying it on. They didn’t have any 10s, so I squeezed myself into a size 8. I liked it but when I tried to take it off, it wouldn’t budge past my shoulders. Standing with my arms squeezed upwards brought on a massive hot flush. Gave up after five minutes of battling with the damned thing and went to the till still wearing it.

‘It’s lovely. Can I keep it on and pay?’

‘Yes, but I need to take off the security tag,’ said the disinterested cashier with a nose ring.

The security device was fixed to the desk. Cue me, sprawled face down on the counter, and her tugging at the label on the neck to reach the tag detacher. As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, she scanned the ￡5.99 price label while I was there. I cut myself out of it later in the privacy of my own bedroom.

10.30pm

Holiday is booked for Friday. Yay! Heathrow to Havana is ten hours and I can have a catch-up with Ace. Or hopefully a hunky man will be sitting across the aisle from me to get things started.

11.30pm

I’m worried about spending ten days 24/7 with Ace. We haven’t been on holiday together since we were children and went on our customary week in Bournemouth every August.

11.45pm

I texted Ace.

Hi, do you think we’ll get on, on holiday?

Course we will. Where’s this coming from?

I don’t know. We’ve never been on holiday just the two of us. We might get on each other’s nerves and fall out.

I know I won’t get on your nerves. Not sure about you annoying me though

Oy!

We’ll be fine.

He sounds more like himself. Is there a reunion with Kelly on the cards or have things moved to the next level with the ponytailed blonde, in which case why is he going on holiday with me?

I wish he’d talk to me about his divorce. His honesty is one of the things I’ve always admired in him, and that’s why I don’t understand him suddenly being a cheating husband. Maybe he’s always been a cheater, and this is the first time he’s been caught. He’d certainly have plenty of opportunity being away with his job so much. I thought I knew him really well, but maybe I don’t. Still, he’s been there for me when I’ve needed him. I want to do the same for him, even if it sticks in my throat.

Monday, 28 January, 11.30pm

There was a guy on the platform at the train station today – in his thirties, kind eyes, and shivering in a puffer coat – sitting at a small table with two chairs, a vase of flowers, a box of chocolates and a sign saying, ‘Date while you wait’. The London crowds were diligently ignoring him, and his sad eyes tugged at my heartstrings. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I sat with him for a while to keep him company (no dating potential for me). He said he was fed up with anxiety-inducing dating apps and came up with this idea to stand out from the crowd, but it hadn’t worked so far. Will I be forced to do something drastic in a few months just to meet men, like play golf, watch football matches at the pub or start doing bar weights?

Tuesday, 29 January, 11.30pm

Peace appears to have been restored in the Brandon and Josh household. They’ve emailed to ask for other wallpaper options. If ever the design work dries up, I think I might have a future in marriage counselling.

Mum phoned earlier.

‘I called All Ages UK and offered to volunteer for driving elderly people for shopping and days out. They were very interested and wanted to take my details,’ she said.

‘That’s good of you, Mum. When are you going to start?’

‘I’m not. When I told them my date of birth, I’m sure the woman guffawed at the other end. Then she said I was older than most of their clients, so they couldn’t take me on. The cheek of it.’

It must have been tough for her to hear that. She’s passed on the ‘I refuse to believe I’m old’ gene to me, and I’m grateful for it. Better to live life as you want than be restricted by a number.

Wednesday, 30 January, 11.30pm

Today’s junk mail included a brochure for stairlifts. It’ll be free incontinence pad samples next. One advantage of not having children is that my pelvic floor is intact. I ran to the top of the house without peeing myself and put the brochure straight in the office recycling.

Thursday, 31 January, 11.30pm

Feeling guilty about getting distracted by holiday preparations and missing the final inspection of building work on Emily’s kitchen extension. Baaad interior designer.